Tangible
by InkBell
Summary: Edward Nygma comes under the employ of the Wayne industry, and for all intents and purposes, he's a normal employee. However, there's something in his electric green gaze that intregues Bruce Wayne to a point of utter confusion. Meanwhile...
1. Chapter 1

Edward Nygma, dressed in a black three-piece suit with his favorite green tie, came timidly into the house of Wayne for the first time. The entire entrance hall was sparkling clean and smelt of pine and lemon, not to mention the various perfumes and colones of ladies and gentleman attending the great party.

The entire thing was almost remenicent of a party he'd read about in school; The Great Gatsby, in which no one knew anything about the host of several parties that just seemed to become grander and grander the more you looked. The only differance was Mr. Bruce Wayne seemed to be a very personalbe man, although Edward had never come face to face and personally talked before.

He came to find himself milling around the table bearing the apetizers and champaigne, staring down into his own amber reflection in the glass. The people seemed to move about him like he was non-existant; a real Mr. Celephane. Fortunately he didn't care to much to interact, as his nerves were standing on end like hairs on the back of the neck. He did however take great stock of what people were doing, how they were poised and dressed, and even little snatches of conversation being had.

Bruce Wayne burst through the giant double doors in a grand entrance, using a clumsly smirk to hide the fact that he had just come from putting a few more drug dealers in the back Gordon's police car.

He gracefully made his way through the sea of people and into the middle of the ballroom. "Good evening." He said as clear as glass. His voice carried through the room as if riding on the wind currents. His eyes flickered to meet every one of his guest's gaze.  
"I hope you're having a wonderful time. I'm sorry for being late, you know how gas pumps are nowadays. Never let someone _else_ fill your car up."

The slight wave of soft laughter bounced off the clean white walls and danced on the sparkling floor.

Bruce's black hair shimmered like moonlight against the lights above. His blue eyes, done surveying the scene, cast a crystalized gaze before him. He was dressed finely in a black suit with the traditional black tie against white undershirt. He gave off a proud air. He seemed exactly what you would expect from Gotham's Prince, but yet, at the same time, made you take another look into those blue irises.  
Of course it could just be the trick of light that made you think they held a darker glow.  
"My name's Bruce Wayne, but if you didn't know that already," he allowed a fake chuckle to escape his lips, "then you must be at the wrong party."

Edward stopped his survelance of all other people when the doors burst open. He saw Mr. Wayne there, standing like an earthy monarch. A sort of comferting presance flooded the room, as though your favorit cousin had shown up to a family reunion. Strangely enough though, it was the slight glints of darker thoughts clouding the otherwise lovely blue of his eyes that intregued Edward the most.

He was usually a quiet and seemingly nervous sort, and did not approach him directly. Especially as he'd only come to work in the firm approximately three weeks ago. Instead, he made a non-chalaunt cross to the other side of the room, casually passing by him, turning only to smile and glance and offer his hand in a formal greeting between two poeple who might've met at a coffee shop or on the street. Although Edward greatly respected him and even, envied him in some darker reaches of the mind, he didn't dote or fawn as the other marionettes in the large and gleaming white ballroom seemed to.

Bruce gave a polite nod when a man, a new employee, dressed in a fine suit passed by him and shook his hand. After he had continued his walk through the crowd, Bruce gave a soft laugh at the delicate oddity of the man's green tie. It stuck out in a comanding way against the blur of normalcy that surrounded Bruce everyday.

Intrigued, Bruce politely pressed the palm of his hand on the other gentlemen's shoulder, who was busying himself with retelling stories of an old time in Gotham, and gave a soft smile to the rest of them listening in. Bruce knew that none of them, deep down, really cared. They just wanted to be in the same radius as the 'infamous' Bruce Wayne, is all.

Bruce gently ghosted his way past the mass amount of people, he had forgotten that Alfred invited so many, and his eye caught sight of his person-of-interest.

A soft hand clapsing on a firm shoulder...  
A curling of fingertips...  
And suddenly Bruce was caught with the intense green shooting from the man's eyes, almost as intoxicating as his green tie.

Bruce regained his composure. "Bruce Wayne." He offered with a smile.

Edward was a bit caught, not by surprise but by a bit of steadfast thrill. He turned to see the blue eyes so close at hand that they could most likely see through the back of his skull. He turned on an elegant heel and extened his hand once more. "Oh, Edward Nygma; Technical support... sir." He added hastely, used to being his own 'sir' but feeling the need to give respect where respect was due.

Bruce gave a genuine smile, feeling the threat of laughter spill forth from his lungs. "Please," he shook his head, "dont call me 'sir'. Just Bruce. We're at a party, mind you. No need to be so professional." He kept a steady gaze, not wanting to tear away from the hypontic electric green he was shot with. Bruce greatly appreciated the kind gesture of Edward being so polite out of manners and not just of social standing.

And, just like that, Bruce was stuck.

For a moment, his mind froze uncharacteristically and thought of something to say. He could talk about work, but didn't he just say they were at a party? He could talk about himself, playing into the character of the playboy persona he put on after taking off the cape... But something told Bruce not to go down that road, at least not with Edward.

There was, of course, always option C.  
Bruce could blame it on alcohol.

He mentally rolled his eyes and decided to go with 'none of the above'. "So Edward, have you been in Gotham long?"

It was predictable, idle chit-chat, and expected.

Just how Bruce Wayne should be.

INternally, Edward sighed; hoping for something obsene and random to come from this fasionable bon vi vont. Although, knowing there was more behind the eyes, he couldn't help but feel a sort of dissappointment in the question.

"Well Mr. Wayne," using his 'sir' name, mostly to tease him for being so informal. "I've not lived here my entire life, but the majority. It's an... interesting city to say the least."

"Ah..." Bruce lowered his eyes. Another standstill. He didn't know _why_ conversersing with this person proved to be so difficult. Usually Bruce was so social and could start conversations about anything.

But now...

Bruce's blue eyes flickered back up to the tie Edward was wearing. He didn't dare blink, not wanting to waste such a uniquely odd sight.

Edward smiled, almost calculatively. "The tie sir?" He asked, almost hoping to catch Bruce off guard. It would be interesting to see if such a man could be surprised or, even slightly embarrassed. Such a person could prove to be very psychologically amusing.

Bruce managed a smile and lowered his head again, laughing softly to himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so obvious." He locked eyes with Edward. "I hope you don't find me rude."

Bruce didn't know why, but her really didn't want this person to think of him as just a scandalous playboy with too much money and too many women on his hands. In all honesty, he felt a strange connection with Edward, something invisble, almost non-existant.  
It almost felt as if Bruce pushed his false identity too far then he would lose him.  
And he certainly didn't want to do that.

Edward managed a meak laugh, fiddling with his tie. "Not at all sir, it's just entertaining to watch you, someone with... well milions, be so transfixed by a green piece of fabric." He smiled slyly. "Although I can see the attraction, otherwise I wouldn't be wearing it."

The same sort of kindred seemed to spark for Edward, only in a somewhat subdued mannor. He desperately wanted to keep his professional, casual, and casual proffessional (that being the work done for Mr. Wayne) seperate as best he could. He felt however, as he looked at this proud man with a lowered head, that that would be difficult to say the least.

He'd never had many friends, almost none he could consider beyond aquaintances; so the thought of actually becoming friends with a man he just met seemed as strange as... as a green tie against a black suit and shirt.

Bruce managed a grin when he was approached by a woman in a shimmering black dress. She called out his name softly and Bruce reluctantly looked away, almost regretting breaking the contact from Edward. She whispered a few words in his ear, carfeully pressing herself against him, and the Wayne heir almost wanted to roll his eyes.

But, of course, that would be out-of-character.

He turned back to Edward, a dull shell over his vibrant blue eyes, and calmly said, "I'll see you at work tomorrow, Edward." And walked away casually as the woman snaked her arm around his.

Edward stared after him for a moment, as though he'd been knocked unconcious and still remained on his feet. The woman brought only a little smile of amusement from him as he closed his eyes and shook his head, wondering if Bruce did what he did only to distract others; or even himself for that matter, from something much bigger and more overshadowing.

Then again, thought Edward, He could just be a playboy. Either way, he still held a connection someplace. Like neither of them were showing all their cards.


	2. Chapter 2

Batman walked up behind Gordon, the light from the Bat Signal drowning him, and said roughly, "I'm here."  
Gordon jumped and spun around to meet the Caped Crusader. He let out a heavy sigh. "One of these days," he said wearily, "its not going to be you."  
"What happened?" Batman asked.  
"Robbery. Downtown, near the Narrows. Police are afraid to go inside. They keep saying he wears alot of green, they think it might be the Joker."  
Batman stood in silence before, in a flurry of black, jumped off the roof, saying, "I dont think it's the Joker."

The Riddler moved the mouse and flitted his fingers in an almost invisible motion, searching databank after databank for one simple access code. He wasn't finding it, at least, not all of it. Accrostic riddles and poems had never been his favorite, so of cours it had to be decoded that way. He cursed a little under his breath and found what he hoped was the second to last piece of data. He popped in the flash drive to download his spoils, when he heard a rustle of cloth, or possibly wings. He stopped typing a moment and smiled. There wasn't time to set any of his favorite traps, but there were still a few little gems he'd cooked up.

Batman stopped a few feet behind The Riddler. He wasn't stealing anything, like Gordon had said, but he was downloading something off of the computer.  
Batman couldnt be sure _what_ it was just yet.

"Riddler." Batman stated firmly as he took a heavy step forwards.

"Ah, what a surprise of pleasantry." The Riddler called enthusiastically without turning away from the console. He'd finally gotten the last piece of his puzzle and pulled the flash from the port. "Absolutely wonderful to see you, but I'm afraid I can't stay." With that, a button was pressed within the crest of the cane he leaned against the wall and made a dash for a back way.

Batman fell into pursuit and chased after The Riddler, feeling a deep need to catch him. He had been at large for too long now. He needed to be put away.  
He needed to be locked away.

Batman lunged forward, outstreching his arms as far as they could, and he tackled the Riddler to the ground with a hard grunt. They tumbled. Batman sat ontop of him and pinned his wrists above his head, scraping them against concrete. He growled menacingly and leaned into his face.

And then, the Dark Knight froze.

Peircing green shot through his entire body and shot electricity up his spine. Something about the Riddler's eyes unnerved him. It was something he had never noticed before.

His snarl fell, just an inch, and Batman almost loosened his grip.

The Riddler couldn't see the upper half of Batman's face very well, hidden as it was behind the thick mask, but he did the the grin. Somehow, he managed to grin himself. Why, he couldn't tell. A question with no answer, his favorite kind.

At first, he assumed it was some sort of self-satisfaction that the Batman wore on his face, but he felt immediately after that this was not so. The Batman was never satified, an insatiable apitite for justice, which is what made him such an entertaining and at times bothersome adversary. Then, what else could be bringing a grin upon the lips that seemed to remember only scowling.

The part of Batman that was still focused on justice, and _not_ the color of the Riddler's eyes, slowly trailed his hand from the villian's wrist and into his closed palm. The gloved palm moved with such stealth that it was a wonder anyone would ever feel it move.

Unfortunatley, the nebulous half of Batman's mind accidentally mixed with the sharp half and his fingers only got so far as to push the Riddler's up, exposing the item he secretly carried but doing nothing to retrieve it.

If this was Bruce Wayne, and the person under him was a goregous woman, the action would have probably been followed by a blush and a shy giggle.

But, unfortunatley, the sitation was a _bit_ inversed.

The Riddler was still unaware of Batman's mental motions, and considered his slowness quite odd. Not quite a bad odd, until he flicked his fingers and revealed the flash drive. The Riddler thought for sure all his code cracking would be all for not, but Batman hesitated. it disturbed him slightly, as the Batman was not known for being squeamish or distracted, or any mannor of hesitant.

The Riddler began to contemplate quickly whether the Batman intended to finally kill him, but it didn't seem that way. There was no probable cause he came to that didn't shock him profoundly. As Edward Nygma or the alter, Riddler, shock was not somethimg he was used to or particularly enjoyed when not prepared for it.

Shouting was heard in the background; it sounded more of an annoyance than anything else, like a fly buzzing around your ear. The cops outside were screaming Batman's name through a megaphone and asking if everything was okay.

Something snapped in Batman's slow-beating heart and he blinked, the spell finally being broken. He let a growl escape his throat, rushing past his lips like a wave of water during a hurricane. It wasn't because of the Riddler but Batman himself. He was angry that something so insignificant as a **color** could distract him for so long that Gotham's Police were actually starting to _worry_.

He grabbed the Riddler's green collar and tried to hoist him high up into the air, to cut his options of escape considerably, but his legs had grown numb in the time he had spent straddiling the thief, and Batman gave a slight stumble.

"By god," the Riddler mumbled, as to himself. "When is a door really really not a door?" Watching Batman stumble was almost too much. Not that he cared for the man below the cowl, but respected him. In the back of his mind, he pleaded that he was just off, or even dying somehow. Yes, that would be a more satifying answer than, 'he was losing it.' Especially as the Riddler himself didn't believe that. Truly a question worth pondering, once his full oxygen supply came back to him. After Batman released his collar, the Riddler backed away, preparing to run, but unable to actually go and not fully know the extent of this strange and helpful ailment the Gotham Knight was suffering. He watched fixedly, trying to remember his flash as well.

Batman gave himself a hard shake, clearing away all of the water eroding the rock of his sharp mind. His eyes quickly shot up and narrowed as they met his current opponent. Batman lunged in a blur of black and pressed the Riddler against a nearby wall, scowling in his face. His eyes cast downwards a bit, carefully avoiding the green trap above, as the police rushed into the building, hearing the loud _thump_ echoing off the walls.

They quickly surrounded the two, pointing their silver and black guns at the Riddler and shouting some more. Batman hid an involentary flinch as he heard several _clicks_ of the saftey go off. He hated guns. Sometimes they proved even worse than the Joker.  
Their single sound would forever send chills up his spine.

The circle of police closed in warily, not knowing if the Riddler had any escape plans ready to execute.

"You remembered," He mouthed, mocking fondness, his eyes lighting up, somewhat incresing their intensity. He was actually a bit nervous with this preverbial sewing circle of guns pointed at mainly him. He wondered if the Batman would actually let them shoot him? He wagered so if the police were so inclined, as he was a criminal of multiple offenses. But something in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. He seemed to dislike guns, the Batman; as he never used them. The closest he'd come was a grappler.

Then it hit him! There were rafters, were there not? All he needed was an instant and a bit of good fortune and he could make his escape. The question mark was, how did he get the Batman away without being shot full of holes? He pondered as the circle grew smaller and he felt more and more chlostraphobic.

Another shout, desperation clearly singing through it, and Batman looked over his shoulder. Before turning back to face the Riddler, Batman asked, "I run too fast..." A peculiar smile etched across his face as green and blue eyes locked. "What am I?"  
He took a step back, one hand firmly curled around the Riddler's shoulder, and the police started to charge forwards...

"Cheese!" The Riddler shouted, knocking against the wrist that bound him and leaping past on officer. It seemed to have worked, if not for the ample amount of fire-arms still pointed in his direction. He swung past the door the officers (or Batman, he didn't know which) had kicked in earlier and ducked through the off alley into darkness

Bullets shot through Batman's cape as he twirled and ran out to door the Riddler had just escaped from. He could feel the spiraling peices of metal wisp past his face and into the ground below his feet. He pumped his arms forward-and-back as the soles of his black boots pushed off the concrete in pursuit of someone he should have had in Arkham hours ago.

The Riddler could hear him comming, but decided not to run. Coming face to face with the Batman again might aid him in finding his flash. That data was far too important to just loose as it were, and he didn't know if he'd have a chance to come back. He stood in an almost statuesque position with his finger in the cleft between chin and upper lip, still pondering what might be troubleing the Caped Crusader.

Batman skidded to an abrupt halt. He narrowed his eyes in response to the Riddler's curious gaze. The tips of his fingers tingled with the sensation to grab one of his Batarangs. He wondered what the Riddler was planning to do next.

Batman took a valliant step forwards. His voice was stern and demanding as he asked roughly, "What do you want?"

"An interesting query," began the Riddler in a somewhat vague and sing-song way. "considering it is you who is persuing me." As he spoke, he lifted his finger from it's restin place and faced the Batman full on, hoping to gain some insight into what might be his next plan. The Riddler himself was searching for a means out but could find nothing immediately. Still taking some into consideration, he marked climbing a wire setup along a wall, but was unsure of how stable they were. A fall and 2000 volts wouldn't do his escape much good.

Another step forwards and a twitch towards his utility belt.

"You didn't answer my question." Batman wanted to get this over with before the police came biting at their heels.  
So the Dark Knight would be sure that the Riddler wouldn't be hurt.  
Ironically, he couldn't bear anything more

The all-to-familiar grin spread like butter across the Riddlers thin, palad cheeks. "I am the Riddler." It was a simple answer, as seldom did he ever give answers. It wasn't in his nature. He liked puzzles, which was obvious to anyone who knew him as a villan or otherwise, but rarely did he enjoy being puzzled by facts that were externally challanging; like how to escape a man with a utility belt.

Once again, Batman had a feeling that, if he truly were Bruce Wayne and this was some one else, someone _not_ bent on destroying all of Gotham one riddle at a time, then he would imagine himself laughing at the coy response to a stoic question.

But, once again, this was not the case.

Batman took another step, the sound of his heel grinding harshly against loose gravel covering up the soft _click_ of a pocket in his belt opening, and his voice grew lower. "This isn't a game, Riddler. I _will_ find out sooner or later. The only difference is, is that you wont be riding in the back of a police car with bruises all over your torso."

The grin remained firmly etched into his face as he spoke, keeping a light tone as opposed to Batman's lowered gravely voice that seemed to become more like the steps he took. "Is sooner rather than later? In either case, I find this a very entertaining notion; not a game." He laughed lightly. "Until I've killed someone, it's a game Batman."

Batman could feel a shudder rip through his stiff spine as he heard the word 'kill' seep past the Riddler's lips like thick sludge.  
He said it so causally. So indifferently. As if taking someone's life was just as easy as smiling or breathing.  
Like it was just another part of every day life.

Batman wanted to shake his head. He wanted to clear the ugly word swirling around inside his mind away.  
He wanted it _out_.

A shot rang throughout the night. Batman flinched violently at the horrible sound. He could feel it crush through the Riddler's skin as if it were his own. Instinctively, Batman leaped forward and tackled the Riddler to the ground, trying to save him.

It was times like these he wished he was like Superman.

The Caped Crusader's hands tightly held the Riddler's shoulders, pressing his spine into the uneven concrete. His fingertips dug mercilessly into the flesh underneath them as he met the Riddler's eyes with a desperate stare.  
Batman waited to feel the Prince of Puzzlers' last breath fly out of his rib cage and, in that single moment, Batman was the most vunerable as he had ever been infront of his enemy.

When the moment passed, blue eyes slowly trailed down the body breathing beneath him to find no bullet holes, no entry wounds.  
He was safe. Batman closed his eyes in great relief, never releasing his hold on the Riddler.

"Why?" The riddler whispered cooly. He could have just as easily let the bullet rip through him, even if it hadn't hit there was always time for more when your enemy wasn't expecting it.  
So the answer to his earlier internal question was put in front of hin and was now digging into his ribs. Although in a great amount of pain, he felt safe beneath the Batman, if not a little uncomfertable. The slight discomfert passed when he noticed the wondering blue orbs, so familiar now that he saw them up close. He felt guarded and hunted, protected and menaced all at once, and it was almost intoxicating.

Batman could feel the ghost of anger run through him as he thought of what could have happened if that single bullet had hit the Riddler. He tried to move, to get off and arrest the thief, but a sharp pain shot through his side. Batman quickly shot his head below him and gazed at the hole just above his hipbone, skillfully hiding the wince he produced.

In the dull streetlight you could see a tiny hole in his Kevlar suit, revealing pale flesh beneath soiled in warm blood. Batman grinded his teeth in a silent grimace and inhaled deeply through his nose.

It seemed the bullet _had_ hit someone.

"Fancy that," The Riddler muttered with concern and looked to the Batman with sheer gratitude. "The law strikes you and not me, and you were it's own cause." Sluggishly, so as not to injur him further, he slipped from the Batman, only slightly, to aid him in standing. He had no intention of going quietly with the police, nor did he find some inner light that would make him a good-guy in the eyes of Gotham. But he did recognize when a debt should be repaid.

Batman, not wanting to show weakness infront of his enemy, let the blood from his wound trail underneath his suit and down his side. He ignored the pain, as he always did, and quickly shot his gaze up when he saw the Riddler stand up before him.

Batman had expected a kick in the jaw, or perhaps the sound of feet scrambiling away, but instead, an outstreched hand flooded his vision. He looked up further and locked eyes with the Riddler for the third time that night.  
He stared, for god knows how long, and didn't dare blink. This was a new game, or perhaps a new tatic, and Batman didn't want to miss it.

He moved to take the hand gratefully, suspicion lingering in the back of his mind, but the Riddler was snatched away and slammed against the floor by a handful of Gotham's 'finest'.

Batman couldn't help the string of melancholy that laced through his gaze as he continued to stare into the Riddler's eyes, now level with the pavement.

The first thing that ran through his mind when he hit the floor was that it was a setup. Smoke, mirrors and possibly pre-meditation. He felt betrayed by his enemy, which in turn made him feel stupid. And if there was one thing that Edward H. Nygma was not inclined to feel, it was stupidity.

Managing vaguely to reach with his nose into the collar of his shirt, he loosely fit a gas mask around his mouth and nose. He banged his hip against the ground and a green bulb burst. A dark bluish gas domed the surrounding area and a stain marred the side of his costume. The police fell dead, at least most of them in the direct gasline. Others may have been critically injured but it was of no consiquence.

He had killed, and the game had changed. Still feeling the pain in his hip and the ache in his head, He looked to the Batman one final time with the piercing green of a full intensity glare, and sped off into the night.

Batman could feel the desperation and exahustion engulf him in a sudden tidal wave as he saw the police fall to the floor with a dull _thud_. He shot to his feet, pain shooting down his legs and making him sway slightly, and rushed to the remaining cops and covered their faces with his dark cape.  
Next, Batman put his own gas mask over the only flesh revealed from his suit and flew towards the rest of the GCPD rushing onto the scene.

"Here." He sternly said to Gordon as he thrust the dazed police into their arms. "Call an ambulance." Batman took out his grappiling gun in one swift motion, shot it into the sky, and flew after the Riddler.

In full knowledge that he wasn't going to catch him.


	3. Chapter 3

Edward sat at his new desk, covered in computer technological manuscripts and boardered on one side by large monotors. He had a nameplate that read E. Nygma, etched in metal lettering, what more could he possibly want. As he sipped coffee from a cardboard cup, he poured over figures and wondered at the "program that got away". How much easier configuring this system for Wayne enterprises would have been with just a little more effort. He shrugged the thought away and stirred his coffe lazily with the little hollow sitr stick. Glancing at the monotors every now and again in a sort of double checking motion.

Bruce came into work a little late that day, courtesy of Alfred's brilliant stiching. Not that anyone really cared, the billionare owned the company and wasn't required to come at all.

He skillfully hid the fact that his entire right side was stiff as he walked with a calm expession gently placed over the wincing pain he felt. He greeted employees with a smile, a nod, and sometimes a wave.

Bruce was careful when people rushed past him. He didn't want them to bump into his aching side and see the pain he was in. It might rise too many questions. Bruce might turn from 'playboy' to 'masochist'.

He spotted the morning paper a few feet away, its gray corners peeking out from someone's desk. He was in a bit of a rush to get to Wayne Enterprises so he couldn't see what 'atroscities' Batman had commited latley and increased his pace to retrieve it.

The room had become quite hot with the buzz and whirr of machinery. Edward stood stiffly, his hip still aching. When he'd gotten home last night there'd been a great bruise there the size of a ping pong ball the same color as the gas. It'd frightned him a little before he realized it's normality.

He moved genuinely gracefully toward the water cooler in the hall, normally a spot he tried to avoid. But coffee wasn't doing him any good cooling off and he could overhear little clumps of conversation. ONe happened to be about the row last night between the Riddler and the Batman; how a few police were dead and some were in critical condition. And no one knew why. Almost a pity they didn't get to hear about the details that embedded themselves within the night's events.

Bruce could see someone stepping out of their desk and onto the hallway but didn't stop in time. Focusing more on _not _limping and pretending everything is fine will make you forget little details like that.

And, just like that, Bruce was bumped into.

In reality, it was just that. It was simple connection of two masses that could be all sorted out with an easy apology.  
But, to Bruce, it was a wrecking ball.

The pain that shot through his entire body caused the playboy to give a strangled shout and almost double over. His eyelashes slapped against his cheeks as they shut his eyes forcefully and his lips peeled back into a sharp hiss, revealing white teeth. Bruce clenched his hands into tight fists as his black vision was now flooded with multi-colored dots dancing before him merrily.

He was going to **fire **whoever-the-hell bumped into him.

Edward turned around at the sound of the shout, knowing instinctively that it was Bruce Wayne. The corner of his mouth lifted and dropped. He knew someone was in trouble, but also that he wasn't the only one in pain that day. It gave him a slight satisfaction to see.

Having gotten his water, he moved twoard the hunkered mougal and glanced concernedly at him. "You look as though you've been shot sir." His voice was quiet and calm, cool as the wather he carried cuped in his hand. Having no idea why he chose that particular euphamism, he decided to stick with it, more or less as something to say later if he came accross his good friend the Batman.

Bruce opened his eyes, the pain turning into a dull ache and then to a complete numb feeling, and looked up at the person who belonged to the voice.

More importantly, to the _phrase _that was just voiced.

"What...?" Bruce breathed and he straightened, ignoring every protest his body made. _Although_, his mind seethed, _I probably should have ignored it earlier_.

And the green he was met with sent a chill down his numb spine.

"Your doubled over as though someone shot you." Edward explained, wondering if he hadn't heard or if he was just in that much pain. "would you like me to, uh, do anything?" He wasn't really sure what he could do for the man at this point but offering was better than nothing.

Bruce shook his head slowly, the dots still lingering. "Um, no... I'm fine." He gave Edward a polite smile and, before walking away to get the paper, said, "Thanks Edward."

Bruce snatched the paper angrily, feeling stupid for allowing his pain to show so bluntly and read the front-page article entitled, _Batman Almost Kills Riddler who Kills Police!_ There was a pretty picture of Batman glaring down at the Riddler beneath him and then another of a deceased cop's mourning family.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his left temple.  
It was going to be that kind of day.

Edward had seen the paper this morning to; the lovely photo of Batman on top of him like a cat atop a mouse, most unflattering. He'd seen the mourning family, unfortunate but not unexpected. He'd never intended to kill anyone, but he'd never intended to help the Batman either. So in a way the two go hand in hand; like fate and irony.

He glanced over Bruce's shouldher as he snatched up the paper. He looked angry, possibly a family memeber was injured or killed, or perhaps even he was dissappointed the Batman hadn't killed the Riddler? Either way, his job was secure.

Bruce sighed, halfway through the article, and threw the paper back onto the desk. It was all a fabrication. Batman had never intended to _kill anyone_ and he blamed himself for letting the Riddler take the lives of five police.

Decent or not.

He trudged slowly back where he had came, mind overthinking, and suddenly Bruce wanted something to occupy his time. He wanted something to make him forget Batman and last nights... Episodes.  
He wanted a distraction.

Blue eyes set back on green.

Edward was staring at Bruce as the playboy walked towards him. And, without warning, Bruce wrapped his arm around the new employee's shoulders and pulled him along with him. "Hey Edward." Bruce said softly. "Let's get out of here, hm? What time is it?" He glanced at the clock on the far right wall. "10:30 A.M.... Close enough. You're taking your lunch break. My treat."

Bruce didn't notice the peculiar stares the two were recieving. Whispers of 'favoritism' were already starting to circulate as they left the building.

Edward looked from side to side as people whispered. It didn't bother him much at all, although he'd have liked to keep himself out of the "public" eye for a while. He was actually quite hungery, having missed breakfast to get in on time. The fact that Bruce had just slung his arm around him had caught him off guard. He was pulled like a wagon toward the door and out to lunch, apparently he didn't have to pay either. What a gratifying day.

As they walked out onto the street, there was a car already ready for them to get into. A stranger held the back door open and Bruce stopped walking.  
"Go on." He motioned for Edward to get in the back seat.

Edward looked to the stranger holding the door as though searching him. He'd already been decieved once this week, it didn't need to happen again. He looked to Bruce who genuinely looked friendly, so he slipped into the nicely apolstered seat.

Bruce slid into the seat next to Edward and the door was lightly pushed shut. The Wayne heir let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the seat.

"Sir?" The driver questioned politely.

"Anywhere, please." Bruce sat up, as if remembering he had company. "Oh, sorry. We're hungry, Thomas. Someplace, um..." He looked to Edward and then back to the driver. "Nice, I guess."

"Understood." And the car ignited.

Edward looked to Bruce and smiled in a somewhat weak fashion. "You don't have to spend a lot, it's already gentlemanly enough to offer to foot the bill." He told him kindly and looked to the back of the driver's head back to Bruce.

In any normal situation, getting into the car of someone you didn't know would constitute trouble, you learn that in elementery school. But this man felt safe. The same sort of kind and supportiveness that you might get from a friend of many years in just a short time.

Bruce gave a short laugh. "You think I'm taking you to best resteraunt ever made in Gotham? Edward." He grinned and nudged Edward's shoulder a bit. "Be _reasonable._ You're going to McDonalds."

Of course, Bruce was only joking. He would never treat someone, even an employee, with anything less than the best. But Edward seemed to still believe in the whole 'be polite to your superior' deal. Which was perfectly fine and the way things should be, but...

Bruce didnt want things to turn out that way.

Edward raised an eyebrow and smiled a little at the mention of McDonalds, knowing that the Prince of Gotham probably wouldn't be caught dead at such a place. He wagered he would eat someplace nicer than he'd imagined going to, but would be polite and eat wastever was given to him.

The car stopped and the door was opened for the duo to get out. Bruce stepped onto the pavement and looked over his shoulder to make sure Edward was still following.  
They walked into the resteraunt and was apporached by a hostess with long black hair and deep blue eyes.  
"Table for two?" She asked softly.  
Bruce nodded and they followed her to an empty table. She lit a candle before walking off and saying, "Your server will be right with you."  
Bruce looked over the table at Edward and gave a genuine smile.

Edward had only a minor difficulty getting out of the car. He followed Bruce inside, marking the scenery. A lovely young woman was their hostess and led them to a table where he thanked her and watched her go for a little while. Looking back to the smiling billionare.

The silence that strecthed between them was almost suffocating. Bruce took a deep breath and said, "So, um... How do you like work?"  
Meet Bruce. Master of all Conversation

"It's great so far sir," Edward said quietly. "But you don't want to talk about work here do you? Apparently then-thirty was close enough to lunch for us to come out here?" He hoped he wasn't being impolite or detracting from the conversation Bruce wanted to have, but something told him that he didn't nessesarily have to stick with it.

Bruce gave a short laugh. "Fine then." He was about to say something else when a raggad looking waitress apporached them, menus, food, and silverware all in his hands.  
She gave a sheepish smile and placed the menus down, accidentally spilling three sets of silverware wrapped in a clean napkin on Edward's side.  
Food slipped next and Bruce, ignoring the pops in his shoulder, dove awkwardly to catch them.

Edward looked up in a bit of surprise. Apparently you really couldn't find good help now a days. He gathered the silverwear up, trying to avoid being hit with food and looking rather mildly at the waitress.  
As soon as the mess was sorted, he looked to Bruce and laughed. "At least in Mcdonals you're just handed things and left to your own devices."

Bruce gave an embrassed smile and, as Edward lifted his arm to hand back the silverware, his shirt revealed a blue and green mass swallowing the pale skin beneath it.

Bruce stood up, gave back the plates, and, without looking away from the bruise, asked curiously, "What happened to you? You have this... Bruise."  
He really didnt know if that qualified for a bruise.

"What?" Edward asked, caught again off guard. Had he been found out? No, he wouldn't go so easily. "Oh, this?" He gestured to the location of the bruise. "I'm just moving into an apartment down town and I was taking a box upstairs, when someone sort of... pushed past me. My hands were full and so I tried to stop my fall by bracing myself against the railing." He tried to smile but it turned into a desperate show of teeth. "Nothing really to be concerned about."

Bruce narrowed his eyes and took a few steps closer, kneeling down and becoming eye level with the gastly thing. He lightly lifted Edward's shirt and gazed into the swirl of green and blue before him. "It looks terrible." He stated. His fingertips lightly trailed over it. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Blue eyes looked up to meet green.

"Are you hurt anywhere else

Edward twitched nervously; not so much from nervous suspicioun of being the Riddler, but because his boss was looking beneath his shirt, in public. He wagered it would be differant if he were a female secretary, but he was duely nervous about recieving odd looks from other resteraunt patrons. "N-no sir..." He said quietly, gently pulling his shirt down. "Nothing to be concerned about..."

Bruce blinked, catching the sutter in Edward's usually smooth voice. He suddenly looked around and caught a few people's curious gazes.  
"Oh." He said bluntly.  
Bruce pressed a plam on his knee and stood up stiffly, wincing at the dull ache his body produced. There was something tugging at the back of his mind, but Bruce quickly dissmissed it.  
He looked at Edward and smiled. "Dont worry about it. If someone writes something about this in the paper, I'll make sure they'll never work in Gotham again." Bruce looked around. "Our waitress is gone..." He shook his head, clearly dissapointed in the service, and sat back down.  
"So, how did you get that bruise, Edward?"

I just told you a moment ago." Edward said with some relief at Bruce's affermation about the possible scandal. "By trying to catch myself on the railing." He would stick with that lie til the bitter end. Although he'd occupied his apartment for almost a year now, he didn't wager Bruce would bother to check the records. Even if he did, the lease didn't show how long he'd actually occupied the home, perhaps he could say that something kept him from moving in.

He looked around, the final few pairs of eyes were leaving their table and the waitress had indeed run lie a rabbit to escape something.

Bruce stared forward, almost through Edward, and sighed. "If you want to stick with that then it's fine. I just want you to know that, if you lie about something concerning my company, you will be fired and that _will _be published in the Times."

It was times like these Bruce was grateful his alter-ego was a detective.

He sat back in his chair, unfolded his napkin, and tried not to grin. "But I never would have pegged you for a masochist, Edward. You seem far to reserved and intelligent for such... _Interesting_ preferences."

"I absolutely hat pain." He told him with a slight wince, as it was true. "Although the psychology is facinating. I'm still trying to fold my mind around how on earth..." He let his sentance trail off, thinking about far more than just masocism. The words Bruce had said so sternly, so full of confidence made him nervous. As though he already knew. Edward wore his finest poker face and looked to Bruce in casual mannor.

Bruce raised an eyebrow when Edward suddenly trailed off. He didn't really see Edward as that type of person. He was just hoping to get some sort of reaction out of him. Some sign to tell Bruce that he really _was_ lying.

Because, in all honesty, Bruce just couldn't be sure.

The brunnete shrugged and looked absently at the table, faking an air of arrogance. "If you say so. What my employees take pleasure in isn't really my buisness unless it affects how they work."  
Bruce could feel the air change as he changed personalities completely. He may not show it, but pretending not to care about people made him feel so hollow inside. As if he was a vapid shell made of nothing.

"It is not something I take pleasure in." Edward said defensively, "It's a simple matter of psychology... it's a subject that I honestly wish I would have explored further." He told him, which indeed was a thruthful statement. The only thing that had kept him form psychological work as the fact that he loved computer systems and that sort of machinery, and that he had enough of his own problems without dealing with other peoples as well.

He wished to change the subject, but couldn't find anything to say. It seemed as though his mind was to cluttered to organize at the moment.

Bruce could feel Edward's defensive tone stab through him. It was a shame that his heart wasn't wrapped in heavy Kevlar all the time.

"Okay." He said softly, slowly looking up to meet Edward's gaze apologetically. "I'm sorry. My mind is on other things. I shouldn't have..." He shook his head and then breathed a sigh. "I guess our waitress is off busy with something else." He stood up, his actions heavy and guilty, and pushed his chair back in. "How about we go get some McDonalds? I don't think we'll have any problem there." He looked to Edward for his response.

"I doubt we will," Edward smiled. "Especially since they don't normally offer silverwear." He laughed lightly and stood with Bruce to walk with him to his car.

(Haha I'm going to.)

Bruce walked in stiffly and the smell of grease and ketchup filled his nose. McDonalds was loud, the kids were practically screaming, but everything fell to silence when the two walked in. Bruce might as well have had a cane and a crown ontop of his head.  
A child threatened to scream and their mother quickly covered their mouth with her thin hand.

Bruce stopped behind a costumer, deciding on what he and his girlfriend (Bruce assumed from how their hands were intwined) wanted. He looked at Edward, raised an eyebrow as if saying _watch this_, and softly cleared his throat.

Everyone seemed to flinch and, when the man infront of Bruce looked over his shoulder, he turned pale and dragged his girlfriend out of their way mumbiling something along the lines of, "we'll just get something later".

Bruce, with a haughty smile, crossed his arms and asked lightly, "What would you like Edward? I wonder if they have toys here..." He leaned into the cashier's face and asked in a hushed tone, "You _do_ have toys for the kids, don't you?"

"Y-Yes sir... Mr. Wayne..." The man stuttered. He reached under the counter and brought out a handful of plastic figurines concealed in wrapping. "We have, um, a Batman action figure, u-uh T-Two Face... Comissioner Gordon, um a few police, the Joker, and the Riddler here j-just for you..."

Bruce made a mental note to tell Alfred that he was now an action-figure in kid's meals.

Edward almost wished he could say how flattered he was to be plasticed into a tiny figurine, but for the sake of his freedom, he decided against it. Although, he was a bit stunned at seeing a little commissionor Gordon in the cashiers palm. Just the fact that Bruce had asked was enough to make Edward loosen up and laugh hardily. He pondered what he might want and decided on just a hamburger with fries. He stiffled his laughter and ordered, looking to Bruce now and again and smiling widely.

Bruce narrowed his eyes as the cashier handed the two men an empty cup. "Is the cup free?" He asked almost menacingly.

The cashier nodded vigrously and Bruce had to stifle a grin. "Yes, well.. Um... I-It's _included_..."

"Well then fill it up."

"Um. No sir... You have to do it yourself." The man, now in a thick sweat, pointed to the vending machines against the far-left wall.

Bruce turned stiffly from the machine back t the cashier with a dead look in his blue eyes. "_What_?" He shook his head. "No, no, no, this will not do." He looked to Edward and couldnt help but grin when he saw the smile on his employee's face. "Edward I am terribly sorry about this. Shall we leave? Fill your own cup. Hmph."

Edward held his side as he laughed fully unable to breath now. He spoke in slight gasps. "I don't... I honestly don't mind filling our cups..." It was almost off-beat humor in spite of the cashiers sheer terror.

Bruce gave a dramatic sigh. "I dont know how you put up with such things." He turned back to the terrified cashier and Bruce gave a gentle smile and placed a firm hand on his shaking shoulder.  
"Hey. It's all right. I'm only kidding. I'm not going to shut down McDonalds or anything." He gave a low chuckle. "Get me a Big Mac or something. I'm starving."

The cashier was completely shocked and, as he handed Bruce his empty cup, he accidentally dropped it on the floor.  
Bruce, just because he could, gave a cold glare.  
The cashier lost a year off his life that day.

Edward stared at the cup on the floor as if it were the final act of an Abott and Costello rutine. He almost felt it was worthy of applause. Rather than holding it back this time, he managed to let himself go and clap four or five times and turned to Bruce with a decicive grin.

"It must be liverating, doing things just because you can." He chuckled lightly.

Bruce grinned. "You should try it sometime." He bent down to retrive his fallen cup when the bullet wound in his side felt like it snapped in two. Bruce hissed through clenched teeth and immediatley straightened back up, holding his side. Underneath his palm suddenly felt warm and alive. Bruce could have almost laughed.

Edward grinned again, almost supersilliously this time round. "I'm guessing you weren't moving things into an apartment when you were injured." He added quickly, "sir" He wondered if that wasn't the wisest thing to do, as he'd been so firm earlier and suggested the lose of his job. But Edward greatly wanted to know the extent of Bruce's injury.

Bruce gasped out a laugh and gave a small smile, opening his crystal blue eyes to look at Edward. "No. I wasn't." He turned to head for the bathroom and said over his shoulder, "But neither were you. You didn't have that injury at my party the other night. Someone just moving in wouldn't just come to a party without having his things in his house first. No one trusts Gotham's Storage these days." He pushed the Men's door open and dissapeared inside.

Edward could tell this game would not be as easy as it seemed. The playboy was far more intuitive than people gave him credit for; very literaly "wasn't just a pretty face". It excited him, but also drained his confidence slightly. Like taking a sip of it at a time. He stood with his empty cup like a beggar, stalking the billionare but not wishing to follow into the restroom out of decency. Filling the cup finally with his potent mixture of Coke and Lemonade, he waited for their food, collected the bag from a trembling hand and took his statuesque post off to the side.

That seemed to be where he was most commonly placed; off to the side. He'd have almost preferred it stay that way, although he somehow managed to enjoy Bruces company. He dearly wished to know how long it would be before he was had and the Riddler was no more.

Bruce lifted his shirt up halfway and grimaced when he saw the trail of blood seeping out of his re-open wound. He had almost forgotten the pain he was in until now.

Quickly, so as not to arouse suspiscion from Edward, Bruce grabbed a handful of brown paper towels and wrapped them around his wound, tucking them into the belt of his pants to keep in place. He lowered his shirt, not noticing the tiny spatter of blood that had leaked through, and walked out of the bathroom.

Bruce took a few steps out and looked around. The awed silence had dimmed slightly and a quiet murmur of voices could be heard buzzing about. He spotted Edward with their food on a table in the corner of the fast food place.

He calmly strode over, throwing the pain to the back of his mind, and smoothly sat down. "You know," He said conversationally as he took one of the bags. "I haven't had this stuff in a while... I honestly can't even remember if I've ever eaten a Big Mac." Bruce gave a short laugh as he reached deeper into the bag and pulled out a toy. He must have scared that poor boy a lot more than Bruce had thought.

He twisted his hand to get a better look at the action figure, hoping to God he didn't get the Joker.

"The Riddler..." Bruce softly said; the memories of last night flodding back into his mind, reminding him _why_ he had taken this distraction in the first place. He set the plastic bag containing the minature version of his enemy on the table, blue eyes never leaving the painted green smiling back at him.

The person that painted this got it wrong.  
They didn't know how **haunting **that color could really be.

"Dissappointed?" Edward asked thoughtfully, a bit bemused at the whole thing. He reached into his own bag, wondering if there was anything in store for him but sincerely hoping not to get the Batman himself. Nothing but a few loose fries and greese awaited him at the bottome. He laughed, relieved.

He looked back up a Bruce, who seemed to be staring down at the mini Riddler for a moment, as though reflecting. Edward wondered what brought the thoughtfulness on.

Bruce smiled thoughtfully as his gaze softened. "No. He's an interesting one... He isn't driven by making the world crazy or trying to show Gotham what fear should really look like. He hardly kills, which is something I am deeply grateful for, and he just..." Bruce suddenly caught himself, unaware that he had just been rambiling on about something a laid-back playboy shouldn't know anything, or even care, about.

He flickered his gaze to meet Edward's, trying in vain to change the subject. "You didn't, um, get one?"

Bruce was already regretting his mistake. What if Edward asked about it? What could he say? That someone who's time is occupied with women and work secretly likes to check up on Arkham's current monstrocities?

Somehow that lie didn't hold to well in Bruce's mind

Edward grinned, almost like a jack-o-lantern with perfect teeth. "So, from the perspective of one who's never... well nearly never come in contact with an Arkam shut-in, what would be your psychological annalysis of say... the Joker?" He asked about this one in particularly care for the Joker and had thought often about about his mental stability.

Bruce shook his head. "I-I wouldnt know... How about we eat?" He tore the wrapping around his hamburger and took a deep bite into it.  
_Good job Bruce._ He thought to himself. _Why dont you just say, "Hi I'm Batman. Want to see my Batarang collection?"_

Edward pouted internally, hoping that he hadn't steered himself into suspicion but also didn't wish to stop talking about the psychology of his 'fellow villans'. He ate the hamburger adn most of the fries, having a low tolerance for such artificial tasting food. He didn't want to seem ingratefull, so he sucked down the drink as quickly as possible.

He let his mind wander to whether they would simply go back to the office and act as usual, but Bruce didn't seem supremely eager to get back to work. In fact, he seemed like a schoolboy who could play hookie all he wanted unless there was a test. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought to himself as he finished the last of his lemony Coke.


	4. Chapter 35 and letter to the readers

Dear Readers;

to all those who're still reading my work here, I'd like to first express my appreciation and gratitude toward you. Your comments have given me reason to keep writing. Next, I'd like to explain tnat my computer has gone through hell adn high water lately, and I've had to re-write the next two sections about nine times. As you can imagine, I'm EXTREMELY frustrated with it and have been trying to get it all back. So, I promise that within the next few weeks, I will have something spectacular for you. Again, I'm so very sorry for the ling wait and I hope that you will be willing to continue reading the story, which will be phenominal!

Yours forever,

Inkbell

Tangible pt 2 of ch 3.

(sorry this didn't make it into the actual chapter three, but it wouldn't let

Two girls appeared and approached slowly, whispering to one another in hushed but excited tones. The curly-haired brunette stepped up and giggled. "Um, hi..." She burried her fae in her friend's shoulder and fell into another fit of giggles. Bruce looked at Edward and put on a fake smile, allowing their eyes to sparkle up at him.

"Um, hi." Bruce waved cassually, his hands rejoined on the table in front of him.

"You are Bruce Wayne, aren't you?" The other girl asked.

"Uh, well I don't know what kind of gossip column you've been reading, but yes, I am Brue Wayne." Bruce wore his painted smile and stood up, keeping his energy positive. "But I'm afraid my friend and I have to be going now." He held up his hand to prevent any protestation from the two. He stepped behind Edward, tapping him on the shoulder. _Cut your lunch short or be prepared for worse. _He wanted to say.

Like two cops in an 80's movie, the pair of them rolled out and bailed into Bruce's car. But rather than peeling out in a convertable, they took it rather slow in a cheuffered sadan. When he felt like they were safe, Edward sighed, leaned back in his seat, and looked at Bruce. "So, what were you going to say when the giggling interlopers came by?" He was hoping to pull some more out of the millionaire playboy.

"Well... Uh..." Bruce shifted in his seat. "It's just that , everyone says that the Joker is razy, mad, insane. That the chemicals drove him insane, but I don't think..." Bruce stopped himself. What was he doing? Talking about the Joker with this kind of insight? It was out of character, and would definately look suspicious. Bruce knew this, and yet he kept talking about it.

He fell back into the character he portrayed during the day, a smooth transition. Bruce laced his fingers and rested them in his lap. "Ah, I don't know... The Joker kills people, what's more to say? He should be locked in Arkham for the rest of his days. Bruce swallowed the hard lump in his throat. What was once a simple distraction was now proving to be muh more diffiult to deal with.

"It is interesting..." Edward trailed off, staring out the window. "To speculate what was chemically altered and what was just... there already." He watched the scenery roll by until they reached the office again. Brue breathed deep and pulled himself from the car. He managed a grin as he was approached by a blonde in a shimmering dress and manicured nails. She beckoned him over and waited outside the door. Bruce turned and gave a final grin toward Edward, then turned and moved on.

Edward got up from the car and watched him go for a moment or two. The woman brought a little smile of amusement from his lips, he closed his eyes and thought. What if Bruce did what he did to distract everyone, including himself, from something bigger. Then again, he might just be a playboy who kept a close hand.


	5. Chapter 4

Well I know this is a long time comming, and I do appreciate all the insentive to write more. So, here it is and I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. I know I promised you something fantastic, and I hope that it'll live up to hte standards I set.

p.s;

I'm not really sure what's up with the current formatting on my computer, but if something doesn't look right to you please let me know or just attempt to read around it, primarily the use of "par" after every line-change or if the lines themselves are way too long. All I have right now is wordpad... and it stinks. You might have to copy past into a better word pro and read there.

Chapter 4\par

A greying face watches the red and blue lights turn corners and pool around a dark building. What a time of night to be on a roof with a giant spotlight. He only hoped that the Batman would show up soon. The wind whipped through him, forcing him to pull his threadbear sportcoat closer around him. Commissioner Gordon adjusted his glasses and allowed himself to drift off for a moment. Apparently, it only took a moment for the Batman to get the jump on him.\par

"Don't do that!" The Head of GCPD complained, whipping around to se the caped crusader standing just bellow the spot's yellowy glow.

"Sorry," He smirked almost invisibly, "What's going on at Wright-tech Warehouse?"\par

"We, we're not exactly sure, but the boys are real afraid of this one; they say the guy's wearing a lot of green. Think it's the Joker?" He asked wearily.\par

"No," The Batman replied, " It's definately not the Joker." He waited until Gordon turned back to the city streets, and propelled himself from the rooftop. Making his way westward to Wright-tech was nothing impossible, but eluding sight was a little more difficult. They had she spots set up and were attempting to find a sourse of power. \i Gotham's finest... \i0\par

\par

\i "File, file, file... the secretary who thought up this system should be strung up." \i0 The Riddler, tiny flashlight in his teeth, was lightly pawing through cabinet after cabinet of hard-copies. He could hear the sirens outside come to a stop. They only shut them off when they'd reached their destination, and so he feared, he would not be going home with the prize he'd sought. A pitty too, as it was the last piece of his puzzle. No matter, he could return another time perhaps. Security would be tighter of course, but he wasn't duely concerned at the moment. \par

With a crash, he shut the drawer, a little surprised at his useless gesture, and searched for a way out. The way he'd come in was out, he knew they'd have it surrounded. And the front door was an even more rediculous answer. His eyes scanned the whole of the room, and landed upon an even better exit than he'd dreamed of; a skylight. It took quite a bit of doing to mount a shelf and fling his wirey body up and onto the roof. The police hadn't yet managed to power their spotlight, so he felt he was quite safe. However, he was unaware of a second presance on the roof. A familiar foe who had the bad habit of showing up where he was unwanted.\par

The Riddler made his way to the edge and looked over. The neiboring roof was peaked and had tall, thin chimnies here and there. It looked like a factory. He didn't have long to ponder it's use before the second presance made itself known for the first time, taking solid form from the shadows.\par

\par

"Game over Riddler." The Batman stepped into view. Three words, and yet htey filled the Prince of Puzzles with such excitement and horror that he hardly knew what to say next. But slinking around verblessly was not in the Riddler's playbook. He withdrew the questionmark shaped grappling hook from his belt and threw it without looking. \par

\par

"I'm afraid the game will have to continue Batman, at least until I'm someplace unavailable to you." Without checking to see if the line were secure, he leaped from the roof. The hook had caught on a gutter, but the weight was too much. The metal groaned and the body attatched to the rope swung inot the broad side of the building. A little dazed, he allowed himself to fall the near seven feet to the ground. The Batman was on his heels, and he hardly got a moment to recover his stance when he fluttered down behind him. He heard the cape rustle as he ran, knowing his only hope of escape was the darkness inside the building.\par

\par

the pair of costumed figures could hear voices behind them, and strangely enough, they both dreaded whom they belonged to. For entirely differant reasons, both Batman and the Riddler dearly wished the police would choose now to take a regularly schedueled coffee break. But this was not the case, as they too had spotted the felon's decent and were in hot persuit. they crowded in riot gear behind the Batman and barked orders for the Riddler to stop; a fat lot that did for them. He dashed around the corner at the end of the long alley and beat his way in through the thin tin door leading into the factory-type building. \par

\par

Inside, he could tell by the sounds and smells that he was in a loading dock, but other than that, was completely blind. He'd considered using the tiny flashlight, but he'd left it behind in the warehouse. It was of little consequence now, as half of Gotham already knew he'd perpartated the crime, but it would've been a bit useful. Then again, if he had used it, he would've literally been a beacon in the dark for the police and the Batman to find him. He was better off blind. As quietly as possible, he gluided through the concrete-floored dock with his hands out in front of him. He found a dolly, a forklift and a stack of crates. This was going to be more difficult than he'd thought.\par

\par

He suddenly found himself in a large empty space, where the heat was rising from the chill of the outdoors to an unreal degree. He saw what looked like big botbellied stoves that lined the two walls of the long room, three on either side. The smell of char was in the air and he could only assume they were for manufacturing. There were stone support pillars that separated the ovens, and he found a place to nestle behind one and close to an oven. It was almost unbearable, and the poly-fiber of his suit now stuck to him like a second, damp skin. His loose bangs clung to his face and mask, but he didn't dare brush them away.\par

\par

Back in the loading area, a few cops and the Batman had filtered through the door. The police wandered like sightless chickens with no night-vision equipment onhand. Batman however, came prepared. He flicked a switch on the side of his mask and mentally reminded himself to thank Alfred for the idea. Slowly, he brushed past the others and made his way around the dusky room. It was a garage, and there were trucks parked toward the front. There was something written on them, but the letters looked fuzzy in the green haze of night-vision. Figuring it didn't matter, he moved on.\par

\par

Lightly, he tread into the space between the garage and the oven room, where the temprature changed dramatically. There was a smell in the air that he could vaguely recognize as the scent of self-cleaning ovens. They burn off all the char that collects from the day's useage, but what were they used for? In the room with the three ovens on either side, there was a large sign on the far wall. It had a large sun and read; GOODMORNING DOUGHNUTS AND MUFFINS. "So," he thought absently, "this is where the doughnuts at work come from..." He shook himself and slid his focus back into place. The Riddler was here somewhere, and he was going to find him.\par

He scanned the room, listening to a light scuffle in the room behind him. He knew it was the officers in their back-to-back formation, waiting for the Riddler to be delivered into their hands. He sighed, having to do this dance night after night was starting to grate. Suddenly, the Batman's quick vision spotted an irregularity in the glow of on oven.

On all the others, the wall behind each oven was illuminated, apart from the shadow cast by the oven itself, all but one. There was an extra shadow behind this one; formless, but definately not belonging to anything in the room naturally. He fitted his cowled head and shoulders between the pillar and oven, careful not to touch it with his bare skin, or even the cape for that matter. It was inflamiable, but he didn't want to run the risk of catching fire to something else.

There, in the shadows, was the Riddler's pale and gasping form. He looked like a painting, The Scream most likely. No sound actually came from his lips, but they were parted in a way that would suggest absolute astonishment. Had he seen the Batman? He remained perfectly still, locking onto him with his vaporous green eyes... Such a color, even in the skew of the nightvision they shone like sickly stones.

The Riddler was aware of the Batman's presance, but not because he could see the familiar shadowy form. He could feel him there, only adding to the heat of the ovens, threatening to melt the flesh from his bones. As his foe drew nearer, he could see the strangest glow in the space where his eyes should be. It was almost phantomous and filled him with a terrible sense of doom.

His hand drew closer, until it was wrapped around his neck. The thick, masculine fingers grasped the contours of his trechia and pulled him forward. He hung their for a while, unabe to cough or gasp. Then, as quickly as it had began, he relaxed his grip, but maintained contact. What was he doing? He seemed to rethink his whole approach, unlike the Batman's usual pre-calculated tactics.

"What am I doing?" Batman asked himself, hoping someone else would answer in a matter-of-fact way. "He's a criminal, he should be brought to justice, shouldn't he? He's no differant than the Joker..." No, he shook himself, that wasn't true. The Riddler was far differant from the Joker; the Joker was an insane sociopath. The Riddler was... was... What made him differant exactly? He'd hilled, he'd stolen, and there was something in his face that made the vigilante linger a moment. His whole being was tempararily shaken, and with that foccuss askew, he moved closer and closer forward.

His face was drawing nearer, and the Riddler could only judge this because the brights of his eyes were more visible now than ever. Before another thought could permiate the film surrounding his brain, the Batman's square jaw was literally shoved into his much slimmer one. The force nearly pushed his head through the back wall and left an impression; a memorial to the strangeness of the scene. He could feel the Utility Belt press against his side, pinning him back. A soft groan escaped his lips, the only breath left in the Riddler's lungs was released in that noise of gratifacation. A response in the form of a low hum came from the other confused individual, who seemed to regain his senses at that moment and pulled away slowly.

What'd just happened, was an unrecognizable reaction for either of them. It didn't seem real, like something they'd drempt aboutand happened to have in common. The pair stood in silent awe for a long cycle of time. Then, the bolder of the two raised his chin and spoke. "You know- You know that I have to turn you in..." The Riddler knew this, and was almost to dazed to repond, but seemed to pout a little none-the-less. Batman pulled him by the wrist from behind the pillar, and to his surprise, was met with a hiss of pain. "What is it?" He asked, almost sounding genuinely concerned.

"The fall, from the roof." He told him, caughed off guard by his stalker's concern. " I think I may have hit my side a little harder than I'd thought." Not to mention the force with which the Batman had pushed against his already bruised pelvis.

A little pang of guilt flickered in Batman's countanance, but it was undetectable to the Riddler, who was virtually blind. "come with me..." His prey had now become his priority, he had to get him out of the building without the police noticing. Pulling him behind, Batman lead him back the way they'd come. By this point, the police had retrieved their flashlights. They couldn't go back that way; not unless they ran, which he figured the Riddler was in no real shape to do.

Scanning the back room, he found an emergancy exit. It would mean tripping the fire alarm, but that was a chance he was well prepared to take. He could get the Riddler someplace out of the way and report back saying he'd run through that door and on into the night. In a dull sprint, he dragged his "catch" alongside him and on through the door below the red sign. Buzzers went off and one could hear the police jump from the back room.

The air outside had d to keep up become chillier, and the Riddler shivered a little as he struggled to keep up. He wondered where they were going, more still, what the Batman had planned for him. He wouldn't let himself believe for an instant that he was just going to let him go free; uncharacteristic an generally unintelligable of Batman to do so. So, what would become of him? Would anyone care what became of him?

Batman had run the streets of Gotham since his childhood... well, Bruce Wayne's childhood. He knew most of the knooks and crannies and dark corners that no one knew of. this, however, was not the time to use any of those. In fact, he knew where he was headed, and it was a public place. there was a Motel 5 on highway 30, just a few miles from where they were. It was far enough out of the way to figure that police wouldn't suspect him of going there, but close enough that they should be able to reach it on foot, even with the Riddler in the shape he was in. Batman knew if he didn't want to be caught, he'd perservere through the pain nad keep running. That was just his way.

they had to round the curve of the highway to get up toward the motel, through loosely manicured treeline so as not to be seen. The Riddler was breathing rather heavily while still trying to keep pace. Batman slowed to a short stop to allow him some time to breathe. He looked up into the masked face in gratitude, but did not dare speak, fearing his savior and life-long nemisis might change his mind and turn him in. He only sucked in breath and pressed on, hoping they would reach their destination soon, whatever it was.

When the Motel 5 was in sight, Batman gestured for him to wait in the treeline surrounding the parkinglot. Stealthily, the caped figured maneuvered through rows of cars toward the front office. The night clerk was reading the Gotham Times, having apparently given up hope of seeing anyone come in that night. Batman left the money for the room on the counter, signed the registoir as "Nobody" (remembering his favorite part of the Oddissey), and taking the key to room 29. All without making enough noise to stir the clerk. Although, while moving the paper, the clerk was sure that he'd seen something flutter out the door, but wrote it off to sleeplessnes.

When he returned to where the Riddler was leaning painfully against a tree, he looked about him and accross the lot again to where the rooms were lined up. "We'll have to get you in through the bathrooom window. That way no one will see you. Come one." He gestured for the other man to follow. They skulked around the perimiter of the lot and comae just short of their destination. Sneaking past two more doors with shades drawn on the windows, they peeped around back and made hteir way toward room 29. The window had no outer latch, so Batman had to cut a small slice of the glass in order to undo it from the inside. It was a faily cleen cut, and he figured someone would notice it eventually, but it was enough time for the Riddler to get inside and rest a minute. With the window forced open, he cupped his hands for the other man to step into and boosted him slightly enough so that he could crawl through the tight fit. With that accomplished, the Batman peered through the the bottom half of the window. "You can't stay long. Just recover yourself and leave. Try not to cause any problems." With that little piece of almost matronly advice, he was off again.

It was entirely lost on the Riddler however, because as soon as his heaving, sweaty form hit the cool surface of the bathtub below the window, he was asleep. The whole ordeal had drained the life from his veins, nad not just the physical toll it took. The mental strain was just as weakening. He fell into a dreamless, motionless slumber; the sleep of the dead-tired.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter

the nest morning, Bruce called in sick to work for the first time in almost two years. The last time he'd had to call in sick was when all but three of his ribs were broken and Alfred had to call in a secretive doctor's visit. The man on the other end of the phone sounded almost shocked to hear that the Boss even considered comming in at all. True to his second nature of "never truely growing up", he sat with a bowl of Fruity Bits on his couch and flipped on the TV. There was a documentary on Caterpillers on. He didn't bother to turn the channel, figuring if the Discoveefore. Even ry Channel didn't have anything good to offer, than neither would anyone else. There were times when his brain relaps and he wished every week could be Shark Week. It made people in the office so giddy, and formerly listless drones told fantastic tales of shark attacks or related facts they'd found out the night before. Even Bruce learned a thing or two that week.

He sank down into the cushions and watched as a mother caterpiller laid eggs on the underside of a leaf. It was almost remenicent of cottage cheese. The thoudeht made him cringe; he hated cottage cheese. As he scooped up the last of the cereal, Alfred was handy with the box to ask if he'd like more. When he declined, Alfred asked if he were really sick. "No," he replied. "Just drained of all life. I think I need a day to... to go into a cacoon, I guess."

"Perhaps you should watch something else sir." the faithful old gentleman quipped. "I shan't see you start eating leaves and sprouting antena." Stiffly, he shuffled off with the box and pitcher o milk he'd been holding. Bruce reminded himself to cut Alfred a break on his walk, he was getting older and older, and pretty soon... He cut himself off. Today wasn't a day to worry about anyone else; even the Batman needed to be put on the shelf every now and again. B jouut still, he wondered how the Riddler was doing.

Edward woke with a striking headache. He raised himself gentley out of the bathtub. The room spun and he felt disgustingly nausiated. A light-and-tumble journey to the toilet left him wretching on all -fours. When he could clear his mouth completely, he rinsed it with warm water and spat. Looking at himself in the mirror, he gazed into his own eyes. They still didn't seem like his, like they still be

longed to the man he became at night. They seemgroed to tell him that he was unappealing and no one could care for him in such a state. He tore his gaze away from the mirror and stared down at the tiles on the ground.

He pealed off his green suit and purple shirt-tie, he laid them off to the side. They were clingy with sweat and if tingled a little to have them pulled away, like exposing anr of soap egg yolk. He showered briefly with the tle bottles of shampoo and bar of soap. He let the hot wather absorb into him, washing him from the inside. When he was through, he rinsed the close a little and sat on the bed in his underwear while they dried completely. A shanky man, white and a little knobby, but otherwise rather attractive. His boxers weren't the green one might expect, but a powder blue with navy buttons. He glanced over to see that the shades were drawn, as they were, he let his head rest on the pillow and thought of last night again, playing the situation over in his head. He was reminded of one of his favorite songs;

_Like a poem poorly written_

_we are verses out of rhym,_

_in syncapated time._

_And the Borders of our lives..._

_And I only kiss your shadow,_

_I can only feel your hand._

_You're a stranger now unto me;_

_lost in the dangling conversation,_

_and the superficial sighs..._

_"What does that even mean?" _He asked himself quietly as the radiator humed. "why are we... burning together like this? A riddle with no answer," he snorted. "_My favorite_." He stood and retrieved his clothes from the shower rod. He put the green pants on and the shirt, but left the tie and jacket bound up in a bundle. The mask was tossed away, figuring it would be too conspicuous to travel with it; he could always make another. Edward dug through the pockets of the pants, there was nothing there. How was he supposed to get home? He wished he'd thought of that when he'd come in the first place, but "If if's and buts were candy and... " yeah, all that. He slung his jacket over his shoulder and left the key in the door when he left.

Walking along the highway, he realized that there was no way he was going to make it into work that dya, and decided when he reached home, he would have to make up something about going to the hospital and having to stay home the next day as well. There would be no way he would have the energy to deal with Bruce or anyone else. Not that Bruce required a lot of energy, but he deserved it. Why? Well Edward wasn't really sure, but he had a keen mind, and it just begged to be bantered with. As he walked, he remembered hte rest of that song and smiled absently.

When he reached the more urban-looking part of Gotham, he couldn't help feeling a little discouraged, but his stumbling upon a dollar in the sidewalk helped to asuage that. He waited at the stop of Mulburry for a bus that would take him nearer to his apartment. Fortunately there was one that always ran right near there. He boarded it and rode three stops to his block, then got off and passed through crowds of people without anyone noticing. That was the storry of his life, even in a purple shirt and green pants. They probably thought he was just a color-blind nerd, or a geek with no fashion snese. Truth be told, he'd always like the way the colors contrasted.

He reached his apartment and took the key from under the door frame. Letting himself in, he collapsed on the couch and turned on the television. Something about Caterpillars. He gave a short laugh; how wonderful it would be to fall asleep in a cacoon for six weeks right now. Especially if he could wake up as someone else.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N; I'm so sorry about the grammatical problems in my last chapter. Things get tangled up write this and configure it differently to post it, it's sometimes difficult to catch everything. Thanks for being patient. Keep reading, we're almost to the end of the road!

Chapter 6

Edward didn't feel well at all, wishing he didn't have to go in that day, but there would be nothing to occupy his mind at home. There was nothing on but that show about caterpillars, and of course Jeoprady. He could play that for hours, yelling at the tv like a madman at a football game, but he was always alone when he did so. Always alone...  
He pulled on his coat and found his way to work by bus, only a few moments late. Final Jeoprady had tripped him up; American History was never his thing.

Bruce looked out the window in his dining room, the smell of Alfred's hot breakfast wafting through the air, and sighed heavily. What was he thinking? What was Batman thinking? Calling the Riddler out was too much. If he was smart, then the Riddler would probably have set up some sort of trap at the tower for Batman to fall in to. He would most likely be waiting somewhere, hidden, and wait to reveal Batman's identity.

Bruce's secret.

Bruce closed his eyes and rested the tip of his forehead against the glass. The cool sensation flooded his entie body, calming the heat of panic rising in his chest. Hopefully things wouldn't go according to plan and the Riddler wouldn't even show up at all.

Bruce gave a soft laugh. He could never have such luck.

The day passed in a horrible slow motion only common to the hottest days of summer. Edward had gotten through work without seeing Bruce, although the knots in his stomach were comparable to whiplash.

He dashed home as fast as the bus would carry him, not feeling that quite so heavy feeling that usually came with the end of the day and flopped on the couch. The caterpillar show was still running; he'd just made it out of his cacoon and started the sequel "The Life of a Butterlfy."

Edward turned off the tv promptly and tried to busy himself with something before that odd hour when the Riddler (who might just turn out to be Edward himself) was due to make an appearance at the bell tower. The plan had come in the way of parting words, remembering the cool feel of the bathtub as the Batman called out instructions and disappeared.


	8. Chapter 7 Final chapter

A/N

Well, this is it! It took a few years to round all this up and bring it to a close. But I'll have other stuff. Not necessarily Batman though. I'm working on a George Weasley fic readers should keep an eye out for. Enjoy!

Chapter 7 The Final Encounter

Batman crushed concrete beneath his heel as he stepped from his Batmobile. The Clock Tower loomed over him and cast a deep darkness over his form. He took a few quick glances around him and was glad to know that he had arrived first. There was a tiny feeling in the pit of his stomach that warned that the Riddler might be there already, hiding somewhere, but he dismissed it as simple was no time to check for traps, the Riddler might come at any time, so Batman walked to the side of the tower and pressed his back firmly against it, allowing himself to be lost within the darkness it offered. Veiled dark blue eyes shone through the black and waited for his guest-of-honor to appear, if he hadn't already.

"Hello Batman." A low voice masked the Riddler's excitement that he had guessed right in his identity crisis. He stepped from further shading in the slight alleyway between the clock tower and the matanance building next door. His eyes were practically neon signs that read "HERE I AM" in bright green letters.

Batman turned his head stiffly to the side, fighting the jump that wanted to spring from underneath his feet. It felt as if he hadn't heard the Riddler's voice in years. Batman, his cape concealing his body, stepped from his hiding spot and openly walked towards the criminal before him. He remained silent, deducing that the quicker this ended the better.

Batman could feel the ends of his fingers sparkle with some type of sensation as the Riddler's bright green eyes bit back the darkness surrounding them. No matter how long they were apart...

"You call me here, and have nothing to say?" The Riddler asked coyly. "I don't understand it." He too stepped forward, making the tazor in his pocket easily reachable for such an occasion.

Batman kept his voice monotone as he spoke, "It's nice to know you don't understand everything, Riddler." His footsteps threatened to stop as they slowed down but Batman willed them to get closer.

" I understand many things Batman." The Riddler grinned. "But there are many times when things don't seem to understand me. Hence, the crime." He couldn't laugh, not as he usually did. It would be forced and ugly, like the Joker's laughter, and he disgusted himself thinking about it.

"Crime doesn't have to be your outlet, Riddler." Batman said slowly as his footsteps grew light. "You can find some other way. Turn your back on this and save someone's life, your life."

"I suppose your right Batman." He grinned widely, his familiar spark returning. "I'll reduce myself to a life of macrame and basket weaving. But I'm afraid we'd never meet again." He laughed like his old quizmaster self again, and it felt wonderful; like a liberation from all the confusion he'd been feeling. "Doesn't it just pry something from your psyche to know you'll be dealing with my kind until your dying breath?"

Batman's feet fell silent at the Riddler's comment about giving up his life of crime and forsaking him.. It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did, and, worse yet, Batman shouldn't have let it show so bluntly. He took one more step, finally meeting the Riddler face-to-face, and said evenly, "No one is like you Riddler, and no one could ever hope to be. Every person I fight is different and, whether you would like to admit it or not, Gotham is getting better. The people are starting to realize that they weren't always like this and that they don't have to stay like this." The wind blew his cape open a bit, revealing the Bat Symbol across his chest. "Sooner or later you and your kind will be done and so will I." He shook his head slowly. "And I'm not going to miss it." It felt like a lie, but Batman knew better.

The Riddler used his index finger to unconsciously trace the Bat symbol on Batman's chest. No one was like him? What a strangely ridiculous thing to say. It would normally be in his way to say that all villains were alike, that they would all go when the time came. He lost his train of thought for a moment. "When the last of us falls, if the last of us falls; it's then I'll know who you really are Batman." His voice was low and concentrated.

Batman flinched sharply, almost drawing back, and slowly breathed in. The Riddler's fingertip felt like a knife grazing over his skin, ready to carve into his rib cage. "Would it really matter?" He said in a low tone, trying to conceal the beat of his scurrying heart. "If I was gone, who then would want my identity? I doubt you would reveal it to anyone, Riddler. Something like that is valuable to you, more so than most, and I would be surprised if you would allow yourself to share that knowledge with anyone else."

His smile softened from a hard grin to a meek twitch of the lips. "I don't share knowledge, I pose questions. Or don't you remember? It has been a while." He mused, wondering if he truly wanted to know who the Batman was, beneath the mask, was he really someone the Riddler could afford to get along with? And would it really matter? He felt as though he wanted to know THE BATMAN and not so much who he was in his spare time.

"I know you do." Batman said softly. He took hold of the Riddler's shoulder with one hand and then placed the other over his hip, dexterously feeling if there was any thing there. If the Riddler released his gas again, at this range, Batman wouldn't have enough time to put on his gas mask. "Which is exactly my point. If they already knew the answer, then who would pay attention to you? If everyone knew my identity, it would be worthless. There would be no value in it. The riddle would be useless if everyone already knew the answer. You would simply fade into background."

Batman hoped that his words were enough to distract the Riddler from his quiet inspection. He pressed his fingertips into the Riddler's hip, holding his breath just in case, but nothing came.

The Riddler lay his hand gently across the hand on his hip, misreading it entirely. "I understand." He told the Batman quietly. "For the first time, to tell the truth," the phrase sounding entirely foreign to him. "I'm not sure I'd want to know."

He could hardly understand why he was being honest with the Batman, just setting himself up to be hurt in one way or another. But the hand on the shoulder and the hand on the hip helped to reassure him completely.

Batman furrowed his brow, lowering his hand from the Riddler's shoulder to his other hip, checking just in case. What was he saying? The Riddler was behaving so softly, as if they weren't here to fight one another but for a completely different reason…

"Riddler…" Batman's voice also came as a surprise. What was he about to say? He stopped himself quickly, not trusting himself at the moment. There were no traps, were there? It was just him and the Riddler. Somehow, that scared Batman even more than any trap he could have come

across.

The Riddler nodded softly beneath his hat, looking below the brim into Batman's mask. He said nothing, as he could think of nothing to add. The atmosphere of the alley shifted, and though his body remained in place, it seemed to turn his stomach. He felt the other hand on his hip and began to wonder what it was about. It suddenly occurred to him that he might be searching for the gas bulbs, which he forgot. He mentally kicked himself but decided, in the long run that it might not matter. Batman had evaded their toxic fumes long enough to prove that.

Finding nothing, Batman slowly moved one hand behind the Riddler and held the middle of his small back, indirectly drawing them closer. "You know this has to end." His voice came almost as a sigh.

Batman was getting tired of saying the same things every single time they met. He knew that the Riddler would never stop until something forced him to, or if his horrific plan, no matter what it was, had been carried out. He didn't feel like engaging in that dance again, for he knew the steps by heart and didn't want the same outcome to repeat itself until the day they both died.

_Maybe I should try something different...  
_  
"Riddler, why did you come?"

It was a question Batman had wanted to know himself. Wouldn't the Riddler have expected something else? Something a bit more rough and predictable? Why would he come if he knew that Batman had wanted him too? Wouldn't he just think that it was all just another trap? As Batman did? All these other questions could be expressed fully by the look in Batman's eyes, a simple anguish shone brightly through the dark blue abyss of his eyes.

Maybe if he answered this question, this one thing, then Batman could understand the feeling eating away at the palm of his hot hand pressed firmly against the Riddler's back.

"Because," the Riddler began reluctantly. "it-felt different this time round." He'd completely ignored Batman's earlier statement, having heard it so many times before. It just seemed to be a noise he made now, every time they met.

Batman narrowed his eyes almost in disbelief. "But this could have been just a trap. It never crossed your mind that the police could be surrounding us at this very moment and are simply awaiting a signal from me to rush in?" He knew he was entering dangerous territory, but he had gotten used to it. It seemed that every time they met, Batman was always on the edge of something horrific.

He slowly shook his head, "Why would you risk coming out into the open like this? What if there were cameras discreetly placed where every newspaper stand was? I could be that much closer to your identity, does that not bother you? There are so many things, so many variables that I could play, do you just not care?"

Batman felt a bit like the villain at this point. Was this subtle manipulation he was playing, or did he mean every word? It was true that there were plenty of things Batman could have done to have the Riddler play right into his hands, but he couldn't bring himself to do any of them. Ever since the Riddler held his hand out for Batman when he lay on the floor bleeding, it made him see the puzzler in a different light. As if all the villains he battled weren't the same, that they had feelings; they had hearts. And, despite what he'd like to think, so did Batman.  
And it just wouldn't stop beating.

"Batman works alone." The Riddler said defensively, as though he himself were the caped crusader. "He wouldn't put the police in that kind of danger, not after... not after that." He was refering to the gas that had killed a few of them, and felt as though he didn't need to mention it and Batman would get the picture. "I was here first, if you recall." His meek smile returning. "If there are any traps here, they are mine and mine alone."

"And your identity?" Batman asked quietly, his mind spinning in circles. "You wouldn't be bothered if I found out?" He lifted the hand from the Riddler's hip and placed it suspiciously close to purple mask on his face. Tips of black gloves rested gently on a high cheekbone. "Everything would change..."

Closer and closer Batman came, but not to the Riddler, to the hidden secret lurking in the bottom of his heart. The reason to why his heart rushed into his throat and shoved the blood faster through his veins. Another step. Another sentence.  
But the Dark Knight wasn't sure if he wanted to know or not.

"I wouldn't." He said quietly. "You wouldn't know who I was below the mask Batman." He wanted to say something along the lines of; although I've gotten media attention recently, but thought better of it.

The Batman was so close now that he could take in as much of his strangely garage-like scent as he wanted. Almost to the point that it made him dizzy and even a little giddy, like champagne.

"Why not? Why do you look at yourself in such a dismal light?" Batman couldn't help the bitterness biting the back of his words. It angered him when the Riddler counted himself as such an insignificant and worthless being, because he was so much more than that.  
"Riddler..." Batman swallowed the dry lump in his throat. "When you look at yourself, you don't truly see yourself do you? You don't realize..." He bowed his head and his hand fell down the Riddler's face. "You don't realize how incredibly amazing you truly are, how ingenious. No one else could do this. No one else could make me..."

No one else...  
Could make this feeling, this damnable feeling...

Batman's own thoughts refused to complete themselves.

"I see only who I am below this mask!" The Riddler shouted, passionately, his meekness replaced not by rage, but by an overwhelming urge to make Batman understand. A sort of impatience. "The Riddler is what completes me! Without questions to pose... without... riddles... I'm..." he couldn't bring his statement to a close; the only word that flashed in his mind was _empty_.

"Why do you need riddles?" Batman asked quietly, hoping this new tactic of his would work. "Why can't you just see people and let them see you? Riddler..." Batman could feel his suit itch as he gingerly placed three fingers below the Riddler's chin. His heart flipped as those eyes stared back at him again with such overwhelming emotion.

"There's something that I... I think I should tell you...But I wouldn't know..." Batman could feel his words starting to retreat back into his mind as they always did. They took cover behind the stone walls around his heart and stayed there. "I wouldn't know how..." He managed.


End file.
